The War Outside Read online

  Thank the Great God, I think, for keeping me from saying something stupid.

  Daniel walks in, dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a blue shirt. He offers me a small smile before turning to his mother and saying, “Do you need any help?”

  “No, son. Sit. You’ve had a long day.”

  He settles on one side of the table and offers me a smile as I maneuver around him to make my way to his mother’s side.

  “Careful, dear,” she says. “The pot is hot.”

  “Yessum,” I say.

  “Daniel, honey? Would you like Kelendra to serve you?”

  “I can do it,” he says, and begins to stand.

  I take hold of the plate atop which lies the first bread bowl and say, “I will.”

  I carefully pour the cheesy mixture into the bowl and fill it to capacity before taking a spoon and making my way over to Daniel’s side.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  “You’re welcome,” I reply.

  Our hands touch as I set the plate down, and we briefly look into each other’s eyes.

  He mouths, Are you all right?

  I nod, and simply smile.

  He returns the smile and waits patiently for the rest of us to serve and seat ourselves.

  When finally we are at the table, Mariah Cross opens her hand to her husband, then reaches across the table to me. “We say grace every afternoon,” he says.

  “Oh,” I say, and take her hand.

  Daniel’s fingers lock around mine before he reaches out and takes his father’s hand.

  Then we are bowing our heads to pray.

  “Beloved God,” Mariah Cross says, “thank you for returning my husband and son from the fields safely this day, and for keeping them sheltered throughout this morning. And thank you, Beloved God, for bestowing upon my son a loving wife, whose place in our home is welcomed and cherished in each of our hearts. Please bless this meal which we are about to eat, and continue to provide for us a home which we can all call our own. Amen.”

  “Amen,” we all say.

  Daniel is just about to lean forward and take the first bite of his soup when a knock comes at the door.

  “Who could that be?” Mariah Cross asks.

  Frank stands. “I’ll get it,” he says. “Go ahead and start eating.”

  I, however, am rooted to the spot.

  As I hear the front door open, I try my hardest not to turn and look toward the threshold, but find myself doing just that.

  Within a moment, Frank is returning. “Kelendra,” he says.

  “Yes?” I ask, swallowing.

  “Revered Mother Terra is here to see you.”

  He steps aside.

  The Gentlewoman enters the home.

  She says, “Kelendra?”

  And I, lost for words, can only manage a small, “Yes?”

  She stares at me for several long moments, then considers the family around me before continuing with, “Please, come with me. I would like to speak with you about your Purpose.”

  Six

  I try not to allow my nerves to get the best of me as I consider Revered Mother Terra and the looks of my in-laws surrounding me. Festering, however, within my gut, the apprehension I feel over needing to follow the woman into the privacy of the outside world is utterly damning, and causes a lump to rise up my throat.

  Don’t panic, I think. Everything’s going to be just fine.

  Is it, though? It’s been only two days since I declared my Purpose, and already they’ve come to a decision? Surely it can’t be anything good. Can it?

  Rising, I give my extended family a brief nod before turning and pursuing Mother Terra out of the dining room.

  Once outside, the Gentlewoman turns to close the door behind her and says, “Sit.”

  I seat myself in a densely-woven wicker chair and look on expectantly as Mother Terra settles into the chair across from me.

  Swallowing, I lean forward and say, “Revered Mother—”

  “Please. I would like to make this as quick as possible.”

  I lean back and wait for her to continue.

  “The Countess and the Commandant have reviewed your Purpose and have passed it on to a judge for deliberation.”

  “You mean—” I start.

  But she silences me with a glare before I can continue. “However,” she says, her voice like the venom dripping from a snake’s fang, “this does not mean that it will be granted authorization, nor does this mean you can start orchestrating any plans to do what you think would be appropriate for your Purpose.”

  “I just… I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t understand what, Mrs. Cross?”

  “How did they review my Designated Purpose so quickly? Did they just… have time, or…”

  “Your Purpose was delivered directly to the Countess after First Lady Rosanna interviewed you after your wedding, and was discussed with the Commandant shortly thereafter. Following much debate, they informed this morning that they passed it on for judgment.”

  “What does this mean?” I frown.

  “What it means, Mrs. Cross, is that you could be in a very delicate position within a very short amount of time.”

  Though I try to articulate a response, I find that I cannot. For this reason, I remain silent physically, though internally I am a broiling storm. I wonder: how will I act? How will I proceed? What will I do? And, if appropriate: what will I say? These questions, and more, assault me with the veracity of a thousand bullets, yet I cannot deny any of them, for I have committed myself to this Purpose with but a few simple words.

  Was I wrong, I wonder, to choose this?

  Some might say yes. Others might say no.

  In the end, the only person left to judge me is the judge.

  I take a moment to maintain my composure before saying, “If this does go through…”

  “Yes?” Mother Terra asks.

  “And if I am tasked with helping the troops as my Purpose…”

  “Go on.”

  “Who will counsel me on the matters that be?”

  “As Gentlewomen, we are meant to guide the Beautiful Ones throughout this world, serving and instructing them as the Countess sees fit. If your designation is granted purpose—which indeed it might be—then I, or a fellow Gentlewoman, would advise you on matters related to it.”

  “So… I wouldn’t have to deal with… the generals? Or the Commandant?”

  “Do you fear men?”

  “No. I don’t fear them. I just… do not know how seriously I would be considered, given that I’m—”

  “A woman,” Mother Terra says. She waits for my nod before responding with, “We hold far more sway politically than you could possibly imagine, Mrs. Cross. You should know that as well as anyone.”

  “But we are not the war-faring sex.”

  “Only because the Countess sees us as assets.” Mother Terra leans forward to examine me. “Are you afraid of what you may have gotten yourself into?”

  “I was defiant at the dinner.”

  “As I am aware.”

  “I just… don’t know how seriously the Commandant takes me. That’s all.”

  “You must have made an impression. I don’t see why else he would have taken such consideration into a first-year-girl’s Purpose.”

  Maybe so, but regardless, that doesn’t dispel my fear, nor assuage the loathing I feel over having so brazenly spoken to First Lady Rosanna.

  With a rough sigh, I stand and make my way to the railing. There, I lock my hands around the supporting bars and look out at the dirt road, upon which a military vehicle and two heavily-armored SADs stand.

  “Mother Terra?” I ask.

  “Yes?” she replies.

  “May I admit something in confidence?”

  “You are free to speak your mind.”

  “I feel so out of place here. In this home. This city. This world. I… am not sure how I’m supposed to belong.”

  “I notice you said how, not if.
”

  “I feel like I’m supposed to be here, ma’am. It’s just… piecing everything together when you don’t have access to those pieces is just… frustrating.”

  “You will learn, in time.” Mother Terra rises and comes to stand beside me. “Do your hosts make you feel uneasy?”

  “I was just starting to get used to Daniel. Now that I’m here with his parents… I feel out of place.”

  “Adjustments take time, Kelendra. You know this.”

  I should know this. Yet, for some reason, I feel like I’m supposed to adapt instantly—to make peace with my past to move on to my present. Whether or not that’s a legitimate feeling or something born from the bowels of anxiety I can’t be sure, but regardless, I know that I can’t consider that right now.

  Here, in this moment, I have been given fair warning about what my future may hold.

  Do not pass, the ferryman would say, or into dark waters you will fall.

  The drawbridge is not ready.

  Soon, however, it may be.

  With a sigh, I take a step back. “They’ll question me,” I say, turning to look at the doorway. “What should I tell them?”

  “That your purpose has reached the stage of deliberation. You need say no more than that.”

  “About Daniel…”

  Mother Terra waits for me to continue.

  “What do I say if he tries to sway me?”

  “You will soon find that men will do whatever it takes to make a woman feel inadequate. Whether or not this has been ingrained within them genetically or socially I cannot say. Either way, it will be up to you to decide how you will proceed.”

  “Thank you for your time,” I say, “and for warning me.”

  “You’re welcome.” The Revered Mother turns toward the stairway. “Go back inside, Kelendra. Your family awaits you.”

  As she departs, I am left to stand on the porch and ponder everything she has just said.

  My Purpose is to be decided upon soon, possibly within the next few days.

  How will I survive the wait?

  I spend several moments dwelling upon this reality—not moving, barely breathing. I watch as Mother Terra and her SADs enter the vehicle, then as it drives off, but find that their absence does little to comfort me. Instead, it festers, manifesting into anxiety I have only experienced once.

  When the bomb went off, I am loathe to think. When everything changed.

  I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath just in time for the door to open.

  “Kel?” Daniel asks. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “At least… I think it is.”

  He closes the door and comes to stand beside me. “What did she want?”

  “To talk about my Purpose.”

  “You Purpose?” he asks, and waits for me to nod before continuing. “You mean… they’ve reviewed it?”

  “The Countess and the Commandant have. A judge is looking over it now.”

  “My God,” Daniel says. “It’s going to happen. Isn’t it?”

  “I—”

  “They’re going to approve it and do only God knows what with you.”

  “Daniel,” I say, turning my head to face him. “Please don’t be upset.”

  “I thought that they would reject you outright,” he says. “That they wouldn’t even begin to consider letting someone who’s only sixteen take part in the war.”

  “Boys go to war at thirteen, Daniel.”

  “What?”

  “Outside the walls. Boys go to war at thirteen.”

  He blinks.

  I set my jaw and wait for him to respond. However, after several moments of silence, I shake my head and say, “Never mind.”

  “What?” he asks.

  “You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

  “Wouldn’t understand what?”

  “What communities go through during the war.”

  “And why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’re in here,” I say, “inside the walls. Outside… it’s a completely different world.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “No, Daniel. You can’t. And that’s what’s frustrating. I know you think you know what it’s like, because you’ve heard stories and gone to school and been told seemingly everything about the kinds of existence beyond the walls, but to actually experience it?” I pause. “It’s… suffocating. Like you’re drowning in deep water and have no way to get out.”

  He doesn’t say anything. Rather, he considers the doorway and says, “They’re going to start worrying if we don’t go back inside.”

  “They’re probably already worrying.”

  “So let’s go.”

  “Just… give me one more moment.”

  I inhale the evening air—from the smell of grass, wheat, and everything in between—and find myself longing for peace.

  Will it ever come, though?

  I wish I knew.

  Rather than dwell on it, I extend my hand to Daniel and say, “Let’s go.”

  Then we walk back into the home without another word.

  His parents don’t ask what happened outside their home. Rather, they remain quiet—spooning soup into their mouths, tearing pieces of bread off their bowls. They make small talk, mostly about the day, while Daniel and I sit quietly. I can barely stomach the idea of eating, but force myself to do it anyway.

  By the time all is said and done, it is getting dark, and a wind is blowing in.

  “Kelendra?” Mariah asks as we finish loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher.”

  “Yes ma’am?” I ask.

  “You look tired. Please, go lie down.”

  “You don’t need me for anything else?”

  “I think you’ve done enough today. Please, go to bed, or at least relax.”

  “Thank you,” I say, and don’t hesitate to round the corner.

  As I make my way up the stairs, I take note of Daniel and his father’s voices in the living room, but don’t bother to stop and investigate. I can tell, by their hushed and rushed tones, that they are talking about me; and while a part of me wishes that I could care enough to stop and listen to what they are saying, I know that would be inappropriate.

  Once I reach the second floor, I enter the bedroom and take a moment to compose myself before closing the door behind me.

  This sanctuary is heavenly after an emotionally-grueling day.

  Unfortunately, I know it won’t last forever.

  Eventually, the time will come for me to face my Purpose, whether it be through acceptance or rejection.

  With that knowledge firmly implanted in mind, I turn and make my way toward the washroom.

  Once inside, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then slip my clothes from my body and enter the shower.

  The warm water upon my skin is heavenly, its touch a comfort I could’ve never experienced in an old but not-yet-forgotten life.

  I stand there, beneath the warm and comforting waters, until my skin begins to prune.

  Outside, I dress in underclothes, wrap a robe around myself, and exit the washroom.

  Daniel is waiting for me the moment I step into the bedroom. “Kel,” he says.

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry I questioned you. It wasn’t my place to do so.”

  “You were doing it out of a place of concern,” I say, first approaching, then sliding the covers up so I can crawl into bed. “If I were you, I would’ve done the same thing.”

  “But you’re not me, so you can’t say what I did was right.” Daniel seats himself on the bed. He sighs, closes his eyes, then pulls his legs atop the bed before leaning back against the headrest. He expels a breath, then, before turning his eyes to look at me. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m not going to get hurt, Daniel.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “And you do?”

  “The war is something I wished I’d never have to be a part of,” he says
, “something I’d never have to touch. But now that you’re dedicating yourself to it… there’s really nothing I can do to keep myself away from it.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “But how fair would that be? To keep everything to yourself, locked away like you’re a treasure chest at the bottom of a godforsaken ocean? That isn’t fair.”

  “Maybe not,” I reply, “but some things aren’t fair in this world.”

  Daniel can only sigh.

  There is nothing, I know, that I can do to dispel his fears—to make right the wrongs that I have impressed upon the fleshy matter of his brain. To mark someone like I have, with emotion rather than action, is a feat few people can truly comprehend.

  It’s even worse when it’s a person you love.

  Love.

  I look at Daniel—at his stubbly face, at his handsome and tanned complexion—and find that the word is not really that far off from how I truly feel.

  Daniel is a friend. That much is already evident. And though we are bound by the law of the city, there is a seed of comfort between us, ever so swiftly wanting to grow into a tree.

  The only thing weighing it down is me.

  This man cares. I know he does. But at the same time, is it right to admit not only my mind, but my body to feelings that I have not yet fostered?

  I don’t know, and for that reason, try not to dwell upon them.

  As Daniel slinks down the bed, and as he comes to rest beside me, I close my eyes and reach for his hand.

  When our fingers touch, then lace together, I realize something.

  This man is my friend; and with him at my side, I can accomplish anything.

  I know that to be true.

  There is no way for me to really determine my place within the household. Though guided by Mariah’s instruction, and tempered by previous teachings from my mother, I find myself lost in the home that I am struggling to call my own, even though I am given free reign of the home and all its functions.

  As I sweep the floors, careful to guide the debris that has been tracked in from the outside world toward the dust pan, I find myself dwelling on my future and what all the judge’s decision will bring.

  Structure.

  Integrity.

  Meaning.